


Broken locks and lost soldiers

by Underthemoonrays (orphan_account)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, the winter soldier - Fandom
Genre: Amnesiac lover, Angst?, Comfort, Dubious Consent, Hurt, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Nightmares, No spoilers I guess I don't know, One Shot, Post-CA:TWS, Stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1591715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Underthemoonrays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky visits him one cold night and it ends as well as he expects it to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken locks and lost soldiers

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should warn you lmao I write but that doesn't mean i write well kk

* * *

Fear. Heartache.

So distinctively felt and _there_ , that he was trying too hard to ignore the pain that accompanies it.

Steve had remembered to lock his windows that night but still, it seems, _he_ had found him. How can he be so careless? Natasha had called him a moron for refusing to have his place watch in case the wanted assassin came to him,  you know, unwanted. Steve had argued that Bucky will always be wanted. She didn't bother him since. And it was his fault anyway--a part of him wanted to see him and squashes the warning bells inside his head at that.

After not being found, Steve gave in and decided to wait him out. So he went to bed, confident in his ability that he wouldn't be visited that night. Oh how wrong he was. And not to mention he was naked too (Although at this point, who cared about his state when Bucky was here, in the flesh) when the presence of something not right instantly jerked him from his sleep (Nightmares, ugly ones that stay on repeat) and Steve found himself facing the ghost he tried to run from all of his life. Or towards to anyway.

Bucky.

Only, instead of jumping from his bed, he let the silhouette of his friend approach him slowly. Bucky climbed on the bed, hands up to show he wasn't a threat and Steve found himself straddled. Bucky eyed him up and down before his shifted his weight on top of him so that he was perched on his thighs, and urged Steve to move his arms to the side with a curled hand until they were pinned by him.

The shock must have worn off because the moment he realized the situation he found himself not regretting it. He should have. But where's the fun in that?

A mistake.

It is the cold metal fingers closing around his throat, squeezing, pressing, that instantly freezes him into place--his lips pop open in surprise and stares, wide eyed and confused. For a moment, he began to panic until he counted to three and thought about his place; his place, the one in Brooklyn, a two-bedroom apartment he hadn’t meant to get, and that queen-sized bed that felt soft as a cloud and too gentle for anything other than sleeping. The bed he was currently sprawled on while his best friend is hovering over him with clouded blue eyes and a hardline pressed smile on his face; that he was sure was meant to frightened him. Instead, he felt himself flush. Full on body flush, and he cursed his pale skin.

Bucky's eyes grows dark.

A weight of something blooms in his chest, a calm serenity, a raging fire, and Steve can’t help but fall in love with him all over again.

But reality sets in, and he feels all the air leaving him.

His breathing comes in short pants, his vision begins to cloud and he doesn’t bother to fight it. It should have bothered him—how could he just give up? If he dies, how does he get his Bucky back? How does he save him from himself? But the weight of this unknown fear spreads like wildfire, the dip of the mattress deepens as Bucky eases up on his hold for a moment, dark brown hair fanning out as Bucky presses a kiss on the bolt of his jaw; hot, coil of pleasure rushes through him as he feels himself shifted, his best friend’s hot breath leaving goose bumps in their wake as Bucky bites into his neck; felt his fingers grazing down his bare chest, playfully at first then his nails scrapped into him, before he stopped just above his navel.

Bucky palmed at him with the heel of his right hand. Steve went taunt, breath hitching. He must mirror the lust filled gaze, and Bucky gripped him through the sheets, showing teeth as Steve buckled.

“B-Bucky…” He gasps, arching into him. Bucky holds him still, right hand pressing down on his bare chest to stop him from moving. He complies. And Bucky reaches down and slips his hand inside to grip him again, thumbing. Stroking. Feeling himself hardened even more as Bucky jerks him off slowly; cold eyes don't change form and Steve bites down on his lips, trying to stifle a sound. He can’t help the noise; Steve moans. Bucky growls. Then the weight is gone and in a flash, the metal crushes his arm.

Quick and merciless.

And the pain comes back full frontal as he hears the distinct sound of a bone shattering. He screams before Bucky’s mouth is swallowing his choked gasps and painful yells, teeth clashing and lips biting until Steve stops crying out.

His fear comes back.

Break his hold, his mind says. Don’t, his heart pleads. Bucky successfully has Steve pinned down and despite the fear he holds, he can’t bring himself to stop him. Bucky moves and leans into him, breathing in his scent. He can feel him, his body draped over him and his heat like a furnace. But still so cold. He tries not to react as Bucky nibbles into his neck again, less he wants another broken arm. Pain, he can deal with, but all thoughts flee once he hears him speak.

Bucky’s voice is wrecked. As if he spent years screaming. “You’re my mission.” He says harshly. “But you feel so right, so small. Too big; wrong and right. You used to be smaller, Steve. Smaller. Still pretty. Steve. Steve.” Bucky finds his weak spot, underneath his ear, sucking and licking until Steve groans loudly. Lost in a haze. This time, Bucky doesn't harm him. Rather, he seems to encourage it.

His broken arm throb, ache and burn, until he feels them stitch back together. Slowly. Steve arches his hips into Bucky’s, loving the way they slot together. Grinding. He can feel Bucky hard against him, and he wants so badly to touch him. Lips opened, the knot in his throat giving way as Bucky squeezes too tight through the sheets that separates them. And suddenly remembers how bad this really is. He breaks out in sweat, biting down hard as he flinched.

“S-stop,” Steve gasps. “Please, it hurts—Bucky!”

Another painful grasp at him and Steve feels himself recoil against the harsh touch. His shattered arm is no use, and his other arm is pinned underneath him in an awkward angle. Bucky wraps his metal hand back around his throat and squeezes until the black edges into his vision and Steve can’t hear anything but his haggard breathing and painful gasps. The white noise and the muted expression above him, watching and waiting. His heart is pounding, blood rushing as the wetness seeps into the thin blanket before Bucky’s harsh breathing is the only thing heard.

Steve glances at him, alarmed.

Cold blue eyes stare back at him, pout-y lips curved upward. A smirk. Cold and almost dead. It’s too painful for him to watch. “This is so easy for me, Stevie. And this? This feels familiar and calming. Here, like this, you won’t even fight me. You aren’t going to, huh, Steve? I always loved it when they didn’t. Always loved it when _you_ didn’t.”

“Bucky…” He tried again only earning a sharp scowl. He tries again, “Bucky, please, please. Bucky. Bucky.” But something ugly appears on Bucky’s face, twisting until Steve turned away in time to feel the whoosh of air next to him and the clenched fist inches away from his cheek; startled. Was he…was he about to hit him?

He felt a hard hand cup his jaw and turn him roughly, too stunned to notice the sneer on Bucky’s face. He does eventually and he tries to ignore the hurt.

“Don’t call me that!” Bucky snarled, eyes darkening. “I’m not him. I will never be him and I don’t ever plan to be him! _Never. Will. I be the hero that died for you!_ ” Steve eyes widen as his breathing was cut off suddenly by the painful twist of a metal hand.

He jerked his head to the sides, freeing his uninjured arm, hitting and gasping, struggling as he tried to breathe—to inhale, to survive, anything but he couldn’t throw him off. Bucky smiled coldly at him, watching as he twisted his body underneath him, choking before he could feel all the fight leaving him. Drowning. Heaving. He wished to follow into the darkness. His heart hammering away as he began to panic. His mind was ready to implode. Let go, his body said.

No, not without him.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, Bucky laughed. Humorless. Steve is terrified.

“No, you don’t get to have that.” Bucky says softly. He let him go easily, waiting until Steve took a lung full of air before grabbing onto him again; this time, more gentle than what he was used too. It only seemed worse.

Steve winced.

His skin was hot. But as the night went on, the chill from the metal hand seeped into him and he found himself shivering. Steve didn’t stopped him as Bucky nuzzled into his cheek, murmuring words in a language he could not understand. Russian first and another language he felt too dizzy to know the name of. The grip around his neck eases up and Bucky kisses him full on the mouth, angling just so that Steve feels himself returning it. It was slow and warm and everything he remembered.

Then when it was all over, Bucky slipped down next to him, careful to avoid damaging his arm further before burrowing himself to his side, metal arm holding him down while their legs tangled together. Steve feels him nudge into his neck, pressing soft kisses before he hears him sigh.

Bucky voice is apologetic, so genuine that Steve wanted so badly to believe him. “I’m sorry, Steve. This is not okay.”

“It’s okay.” Steve assured him, expression pained. Bucky held him tighter, noticing the shake in his tone and the lie. “It’s okay.” It was not okay.

"Liar."

"Bucky..."

"Shh, Steve. No more talking." 

He closed his eyes, and waited until Bucky’s breathing slowed enough to fall asleep. Despite the slumber, he was tight with tension and he was sure by the morning he would be feeling the effects of it.

When daylight comes and his arm has healed, Steve notices the empty space besides him and tries to tell himself it was just a nightmare. Splashing cold water to wash away the tiredness and pressing a hand to his temple to message the throb away, he catches notice. When the line of blue jewels appear on his skin, down the path of his chest, hand sized prints around his throat, towards the darkening ache around his arm, Steve watches the bruises fade in minutes. And tells himself that nightmares do not manifest in real life; and that the pain was real.

Bucky was here.

And he had hurt him.

Steve stares at himself, notices the knots in his blond hair and the fatigue first before his mind came alive. Thoughts and memories raced past him, feelings submerged from the depths of his mind and he begins to ponder if the phantom pain of losing your best friend to the war would ever go away.

He'll be back. Steve's counting on it.

_Please come back._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments? Thoughts?


End file.
